Back In the Game
by gpeach6
Summary: The whole dream team find themselves back in the game of puppet vs. master. Only this time, they're not the ones pulling the strings. Fischer finds out about the inception, and Arthur is suddenly having nightmares. How do these all connect? Read&find out.
1. The Lady in the Red Dress

**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or the back-stories.**

**Chapter One: **

Soft music drifted through the speakers in the ballroom of the high-class hotel which held within it a crowd of high-class guests, smiling, milling around, and striking up conversation with whomever they pleased. Artificial, snooty laughter was forced through their lips when someone important cracked a crude joke.

Among these guests stood a man called Arthur, staring into his own reflection in the mirror in front of him. It was full length and painted gold, carved with intricate patterns. It was one of many, placed randomly around the spacious room. Warm light trickled from a human-sized chandelier that glittered with at least a thousand diamonds seemingly dripping off of it like drops of crystal-clear water. Arthur blinked into his mirror, running one hand over his slicked-back hair while the other smoothed out the trousers of his crisp black suit. He found it amazing that his great lack of sleep did not show itself as prominently as it usually did. His face was still pale and even as ever. Tipping his head slightly to the side, he pondered this for a moment and watched as the Arthur clone opposite him mimicked his actions.

Quite amused with himself, he failed to notice the small figure take shape behind him until she was right at his shoulder. Her hair was pinned up in a perfect bun, except a couple strands left purposely loose to show off soft caramel curls. Her chocolate eyes held an air of mischief that matched her ensemble. A particularly form-fitting dress hugged her down to right above her hips, before plunging loosely down to her knees. The neckline formed a 'V' at a point that met with just below the top of her shoulders. Red strappy high heels gave her petite form a bit more height than usual, and Arthur could not help but notice that her lips were shiny and cherry red. She stood far enough away so that he could breathe normally, but nothing kept his heart from beating at an abnormal rate. He could not refrain from smiling at the sight of her, turning, so they were face to face.

"You look absolutely beautiful," he commented appreciatively. Later, he would wonder why he didn't question why she was there in the first place. Her smile and laugh were so beautiful he found it hard to question anything but why she wasn't in his arms that second.

"Thank you, Arthur. You don't look so bad yourself. I've really missed working with you," she told him lightly. A blush bloomed across her face, causing it to look sweet and girlish. He took a step closer to her on impulse. "You know," she began, more serious now. "I've been thinking a lot lately, about… us… being together. Maybe we could work together again and be part of our own team. Make our own rules." With each new sentence, she gained more confidence, and the space between them closed gradually. She wrapped her arms around his neck and slowly, cautiously brought her lips up to meet his. The sensation was soft, sweet, and warm. He suddenly felt overcome with joy, and they both smiled when they parted. Arthur closed his eyes, letting himself feel the warmth and happiness for just a little bit longer. Deep inside him he knew what came next and braced himself.

"Arthur?" He didn't know precisely when the change had taken place, but the warmth of her body left him to feel even colder than he had been before she had showed up. He could feel her eyes on him, studying his reaction. Her voice had been cold, fearful. When he opened his eyes, he saw that she stood barely ten feet away from him, pointing a gun to his chest. He glanced around for a second to see how the crowd reacted to this, but none of the scantily clad rich women or suited tyrants of men even shifted their eyes toward the two. The hand in which she gripped the gun shook for just a second before changing direction and pressing against her own temple. "I'm sorry." Her last words echoed through the now silent, empty ballroom. A single tear lost its way down her cheek before the heartbreaking bang filled Arthur's ears and crimson splattered the expensive tiles at her feet.

"NO! Ariadne!" he screamed, ripping across the dance-floor toward where her body lay, contorted on the floor. He held her close to him, calling her name and feeling lonelier than he had in his entire life.

* * *

Arthur wakes with a start for the third time this week. He gropes desperately for the little plastic die that anchor him to reality and accidently knocks his watch to the floor with a whispered curse. Finally, his nervous hand closes securely around the totem, releasing a relieved sigh from its owner. Once his moment of panic is over, he sits up and puts a hand to his heart, just to make sure it is still beating. To be positive the nightmare is over, he rolls the die a couple times, and each time they land on the five, exactly as he's rigged them to. He isn't sure of the cause of these dreams, but they affect him more than they should.

"It is odd isn't it?" he asks the empty room. "That I should dream after all this time, and that a five-star hotel suite should seem so cold and empty." Though he has never been afraid of the dark, sound gives him an unexplainable sense of comfort in the lonely hotel room. Of course, it is the best money could buy, but all the fancy soaps and comfy pillows in the world cannot keep him company. Nor can they fill the strangely painful hole digging deeper into his chest with every waking- or resting- moment. He knows he shouldn't be like this, having learned a long time ago that people are always alone in this business. "And why do the shadows suddenly seem darker?" he mutters to himself. He just knows he's gone off the deep end at that point but can't tear his eyes away from the shifting curtains in the corner of the room. Then, he focuses on the curtains, casting shadows by the early dawn light, rustling quietly in the wind. _Wind? _The man's brows pull together in concentration. He stands from the comfort of the warm bed, frowning deeply.

"Now, I distinctly remember closing that window before I went to sleep." As he wanders over to the open window, overwhelming dread fills Arthur with nausea. He takes a deep breath before sticking his head outside. Cold air slaps him directly in the face, but he continues to look down the long ledge that leads to the window. If anyone had been there before, they are long gone now. His panic returning slightly, he rushes to turn on a light in the dark room. The bedside lamp flickers on, and the nausea grows worse when he looks down at his own arm. Another curse rips from his lips when his eyes find the fresh dot of blood on his left wrist. Finally, he stands from his spot on the bed and grabs his coat, rushing out of the door. This place is no longer safe.

* * *

"Another round, my good fellow?" slurs the man, half sitting in the bar stool and half lying across the bar. His British accent is intensified by the effort it takes to speak. The bartender nods, probably out of pity. He must be quite the sight, with his hair untrimmed, dress shirt unbuttoned, and face left unshaven for days. In his happy drunken state, he doesn't bloody care about what he looks like. This has been his state of mind for two months by now. It's been two months since he's had to pull himself together for the sake of the people around him. Right now, the only people around him are either so drowned in alcohol that they don't even notice him or take enough pity on him to hand him a couple dollars in the street, like he actually needs their money. He has enough green paper to buy a small city if he wishes. All he wants to do right now… What, exactly, does he want?

"Talking to yourself, now, Eames?" The sound of his own name startles him out of his thoughts, and he lazily glances behind him to see none other than the stick-in-the-mud himself, Arthur.

"Huh. Was I? I hadn't realized," he replies truthfully. Arthur seems as if he can't decide whether Eames is joking or not. Apparently, he's chosen to drop the subject entirely.

"What brings you to Paris, France?" he asks.

"Ah, straight to the point, I see. Actually, I was looking for you, darling." Again, the other man is confused.

"What made you think I would be here?" he continues to question him, as if the answer isn't obvious.

"I figured you couldn't resist the temptation of a certain treasure that flew back here after the Fischer job. I had assumed correctly, of course," he teases, smirking. The point man's pale face goes completely blank.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Eames. _You_ don't know what you're talking about. You're drunk. Now, back to the point. Why on earth would you be looking for me?" Then, as any mentally unstable drunk would do, Eames bursts into hysterical laughter. The sound is not pleasant, as it is with most, but loud and cold and horribly sick. It turns into fits of painful, uncontrollable coughing. When he finally finds the strength to look up, Arthur has his concerned point-man face on. "Have you gone mad?" he asks. Sighing, the drunken forger tries to make sense of all the information swirling around in his head.

"Why…" he begins uncertainly. "Why am I looking for you?" He searches desperately for the answer. Then, it suddenly comes to him with a wave of dread. "Trouble," is all he could push from his brain to his mouth.

"What?" The forger is now frustrated. He can't seem to gather words for what he needs to say.

"Trouble. You are in trouble. We are in trouble. You, me, Cobb, Saito, Yusuf…" what was her name? "… Ariadne. We're all horribly deep in a big pile of… trouble." There. That's it. Now why are they in trouble?

"Why? Did something go wrong with the inception?" Arthur whispers. Another laugh escapes Eames, but this one is shorter and, if possible, colder.

"'Did something go wrong with the inception?'" he asked mockingly. "Everything went wrong with the inception. Well, except that we're alive, but I guess that's disputable… Fischer. Someone leaked to Fischer. We're in trouble because one of us told the mark about the inception. Saito… he called Cobb. He told him about a change in Fischer's plans. Cobb called me. That's why I'm here… to find you and warn you about the leak. We're all in danger, and Cobb… he brought his kids here under the pretense of visiting their grandfather. He told me to call him once I contacted you. We're to find the girl and meet him somewhere to figure out how we're going to play this one. Would you like a bag, Arthur?" He looks as if he is about to toss his cookies, once Eames is done speaking.

"Someone was in my hotel suite this morning. I think they… I think they might have performed an extraction on me." He sounds more scared than the forger has ever seen him. That, the information he recollected from his own memory, and the news Arthur has just dumped on him have all gradually frightened Eames out of his drunken state. He is now more awake than he has been for two months.

"What was the dream about?" he asks, seriously. A silence settles over the two men with this question. "This is important, Arthur. If we know what the dream was about, we can get an idea of what they stole." Arthur turns a bit greener.

"I was in a hotel, looking into a mirror. There was quiet music, rich people, and… a woman… appeared. She…" He seemed to have trouble explaining the next part of the dream. "She kissed me. Then she pointed a gun at me, but at the last moment, she killed herself instead."

"Did you know the woman? She was a projection of your own subconscious, so she must be someone from your past. A lover, a friend, a coworker?" Arthur gulped before replying hesitantly.

"I think Ariadne is in trouble."

* * *

"Ariadne! Are you done in the freaking bathroom?" Marie's voice is muffled by the thick wooden door between them. Dropping her toothbrush into the little holder on the sink, Ariadne swings open said door to the sight of her angry roommate, tapping her foot in irritation.

"Chill, Marie. I was just finishing up," she tells her smugly. The other girl rolls her eyes and mutters something in French, too fast for Ariadne, whose French is rough, to get an exact translation. "Hey!" she calls through the door, which is only half-closed on the other girl, who is currently brushing her teeth. "Don't be too long if you plan on walking me to school today! If I'm late again, Professor Miles will kill me!" Marie laughs through a mouth full of toothpaste.

"That's not my problem is it?" she replies.

"It is if you want to keep on babysitting me like you have been for the past two months. I swear I'll leave without you. I don't need you to hold my hand and walk me to school. I'm twenty-two years old," she announces indignantly. Despite her light teasing, Ariadne's voice has taken on the sharp edge of bitterness that has lingered somewhere inside her for the past two months. Marie's face appeared in front of her, eyebrows raised, lips pursed and coated in toothpaste.

"Well, _sorry _for being concerned if my best friend ran off supposedly working a job for a freaking _month _and hasn't been the same since. You've been staying up late working on mysterious sketches that you won't show me in the morning, looking over your shoulder constantly like someone is out to kill you," she pauses to turn and spit into the sink. Then, she comes all the way out of the bathroom and begins to gather her things as she continues, "and I won't even go into detail about the things you've been saying in your sleep. It's a different man's name every night. Who's Arthur? Dom? Eames?"

For a moment, Ariadne stands, eyes wide, staring at her roommate. It was at least a few minutes of tense silence before she found the power to speak. "I- I don't know who you're talking about. I mean- I do know who they are- but… I work with them, Marie. It's no big deal. And I wasn't _'supposedly' _working a job. I already told you that I was doing a small job for another young architect." She glances at the clock and feels a surge of relief that there is something to distract her prying roommate from her personal life. _My personal life? There was nothing personal about it. It was completely professional, _she thinks bitterly. None of them have contacted her in two months, for heaven's sake! Still, somewhere in the bottom of her heart, she yearns to at least speak to one of them again, just to make sure that it all really happened and that it hadn't been just a long, cruel dream. Well, at least not _all _of it. Sighing, she turns to her suspicious friend.

"Look, you know that you're my best friend, and I care about you. But there are some things that I need to keep quiet for a little while, until I'm ready to talk about it. Now, we have to go, or we'll be late." Ariadne makes sure to keep her voice even and sincere. The up-side to working with the best Point Man in the business is that she can still apply some of the lessons she learned from him to real life. _Reality, _she tells herself, _this is where I need to be. _Having thoroughly convinced herself to set aside her memories for a rainy day, she holds out her arm for Marie, who wraps her own around it graciously, and they walk out the door of their shared flat, arm in arm.

Ariadne is finding it increasingly difficult to focus on the lesson that her favorite professor is trying to jam into her ears. She hears every syllable of every word that has left his mouth, but it fails to stick, continuing to slip from her brain completely before she can catch it. She doesn't see why it matters anyway, because Marie, who is currently sitting next to her, takes excellent notes. No matter the looks of disapproval she continues to shoot towards her, she'll give up the notes for a couple mugs of hot cocoa and a pouty face. However, the professor's last words stay with the young architect, as though she has some indication of what is to come next.

"Now, are there any questions?" Miles' voice seemed to echo off of the walls of the lecture hall, even when he does not dare to hope for a reply.

"Yes, actually, I have one," answers a male voice from behind Ariadne.

Every head in the room turns to see the foolish young man with a question to ask. Out of all the eyes that find their way to the face of the man with the slicked-back hair and the three-piece suit, only two of them are struck with the shock of seeing a familiar face after much too long. As the rest of her classmates whisper about the newcomer who suddenly spoke up, Ariadne struggles to meet the gradually widening eyes of her professor. Once this is accomplished, an emotion she has trouble placing crosses his features. Her gaze then trails back to the familiar person behind her, as the rest of her tries to sort out her emotions and tries not to let her mind wonder what he could possibly want with her after two months of not existing. She shoves her hand in her pocket, searching frantically for the bronze bishop that would assure her that this was, in fact, reality. Tipping it over a couple times on her desk, she earns a concerned glance from Marie, but she doesn't care. After a few minutes of silence and a couple doubtful stares, Professor Miles finds the will to speak.

"Well, are you going to ask your question?" he demands with a hint of impatience. Then, the Point Man asks a long, well-thought-out inquiry about the lecture. Ariadne notices how the professor answers robotically, as if the shock of seeing him again has startled him out of all emotion, but the rest of the students don't seem to realize that anything is different. Miles glances at the clock anxiously.

"All right, we'll pick this up tomorrow. You are dismissed." Again, his voice is indifferent. The rest of the class gathers their books and files out of the classroom, but Ariadne can't put herself together quick enough to move. She fears that, if she does, her trembling legs will not be capable of holding her weight.

"Ariadne? Are you coming?" Marie asks. Her perfect eyebrows are pulled down, and her large brown eyes are narrowed at her like she's attempting to read her mind. Full lips pursed, hands on her curvy hips, Ariadne is suddenly struck with envy of her beauty, totally disregarding her words. She blinks, shakes her head, and stares up at her friend.

"Huh?" was her brilliant response. Noticing the obvious disapproval in her expression, Ariadne immediately tries to save herself from a long rant, courtesy of Marie Belevoure. "I- I mean- no. Just go ahead without me, okay?"

Sighing, Marie gives her one more good glare before gathering her books and following the rest of her peers out the door. Once she is gone, Ariadne risks standing, surprised by the ease with which she can hold herself up and still look confident and brave. She turns to the young man that had caused such a reaction, then to back to Miles. The old professor is the first to find his voice.

"Well, Arthur, would you like to explain your sudden interest in modern architecture?" he asks bitterly. Arthur clears his throat, seemingly untouched by the other man's hostility.

"I've come to collect Ariadne," he announces, as if it is as simple as that. Miles is increasingly angry, and the emotion that Ariadne had not been able to place before has returned. However, this time, she is able to straighten out her scattered brain enough to put her finger on it- fear. Of what, she has no idea.

"Certainly not for another job," Miles responds indignantly. Arthur shakes his head.

"No. Not a job. She is no longer safe here." His words, spoken as if he were simply discussing the weather, were a punch in the gut.

"What do you mean 'I'm no longer safe here'?" she cut in, her voice an octave higher than usual. When Arthur turns to her, his impassive face and eyes that refuse to meet her own give her the sudden urge to smack him silly, but she held herself back like a "lady". She almost laughs at her own word choice but stifles it with a cough. Neither of the men in the room needs another reason to think that she's lost her marbles.

"Someone leaked to Fischer about the inception. We have in tell that they've gone after you first." Ariadne gulps dramatically, still trying to look as if she's not scared out of her wits.

"What kind of in tell?" she asks, just buying time, so she can wrap her head around this situation. Arthur pales at the question.

"Does it matter?"

"Oh, that kind," she says, nodding in understanding. She doesn't allow herself the time to wonder about his relieved sigh when she let the subject go so quickly. "Why would they hunt me down first? I'm just the architect, remember."

"We're not sure, but you have to come with me and stop asking questions, regardless." Closing her eyes, Ariadne nods slowly. She waves goodbye to Miles as they step out into the crowded hall, flooded with students, pushing their way to class. Arthur keeps a hand on the small of her back until they've reached the stairs of the college building, where she holds up one hand, silently telling him to stop. He complies, waiting patiently for her to say what she must. She's sure he knows by now that arguing with her will just slow them down more.

"I have just one more question before we go. When you said 'we' earlier…?" she lets herself trail off, sure he will understand.

"I meant Eames and I. We will meet up with Cobb later once we're sure you're not being followed. Yusuf is flying in tomorrow," he answers.

"Oh, so we're all in Paris at the same time?" She can't help but ask.

"What happened to just one more question?" he counters, and she rolls her eyes in response.

"Alright, alright. C'mon, Mr. Point Man."


	2. Waking Up

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or any of its characters.**

**Chapter Two:**

The small ice cream shop was empty, except for the young boy, barely seven years old, who sat in a booth with his vanilla ice cream cone. He licked away at it busily, not pausing to wonder just where it was everyone had gone. It was quite easy to ignore the chill creeping up his back, when he had the melty, creamy snack in his hand. However, he was very careful not to get a single drop on his brand new red dragon t-shirt. His mommy had given it to him for his birthday, along with his new favorite sneakers. He liked them because every time he took even a small step, they flashed all different colors.

Looking around the shop, the boy smiled at all of the whimsical colors. The floor consisted of light pink, baby blue, and mint green tiles that created a pattern from the glass doors to the round tables spaced randomly around the place to behind the clear freezer that showed all of the yummy flavors and aligned itself with the small black cash-register. The quiet hum of electricity kept him company.

He had gotten so used to being alone that the _ding-a-ling _of the little bell above the door made him jump. A girl, about his age, had pushed her way into the dingy shop. She had long, wavy brown hair that was pulled back into pig tails and wide brown eyes framed by long black eyelashes. Her face was round and pretty, and he noticed that her sneakers lit up when she walked, just like his. It was strange, though, that the girl already grasped a chocolate ice cream cone in her dainty hands. Why would someone go to an ice cream shop if they already had ice cream?

"Hey," he said. She jumped and whipped around at the same time, like she had been caught doing something naughty. A relieved smile spread across her pretty face when she found the speaker to only be the other child.

"Hi," she whispered, as if there was anyone to hear them. "You're not going to hurt me, are you?" she asked, her voice trembling and a quivering lip replacing her smile. "And you're not gonna tell my papa I've been out, if I tell you my name?" Arthur shook his head vigorously.

"Why would I hurt you? I dunno you yet!" he replied, offended. The girl smiled again, wider this time, finally approaching him and holding out her right hand.

"I'm Ariadne." The boy decided, then, that he liked it when she smiled, and he took her outstretched hand and shook it.

"I'm Arthur. How come you came here, if you already got ice cream?" His curiosity boiled over. The girl shrugged, her smile vanishing as quickly as it had come and her eyes focusing on a pink square on the floor. Arthur immediately regretted asking, but her reply came before he could apologize.

"I didn't come here to get ice cream. I came here to run away from my papa. He hurt me. Do you see this?" she asked, pointing to a big round spot on her left arm where it had turned purple and yellow. "He hits me and shakes me. I don't wanna ever go back." A tear cut itself loose from her watery eyes, and she wiped it away angrily. Arthur didn't understand.

"What about your mommy? Doesn't she do anything?" he questioned. Ariadne looked up, staring him straight in the eye.

"My mommy don't care anymore. She's not my mommy anymore." Her voice was colder than the big freezer where they kept all the ice cream in that little shop. Arthur was silent for a moment, before coming to a decision.

"Oh. Well, if you don't got a mommy, and your papa isn't good to you, why don't you come live with me and my mommy and daddy? I got both. They got enough love for the both of us. O' course, ya gotta live with an annoying baby brother, but you'll get used to him." He would have tried anything to make her pretty smile come back, and he was happy to see that he'd succeeded. This one was hopeful and filled with tears.

"Really? You'd let me live with you?"

"Sure. I like you. You're nice. I got just one question, though. How come your ice cream doesn't ever go away? I seen you lick it, but there's never any less of it. Plus, it doesn't melt," he commented skeptically. Ariadne looked down at it, tipping her head sideways and examining it.

"I dunno. I didn't really see it much. It was so dark when I left my papa and mommy. I was so scared; I just didn't really care." She thought for a moment, then continued, "I like you too, Arthur. You listen to me, and you're real curious. My mommy, when she was my mommy, used to say that curiosity killed the cat, 'cause I was always real curious too, but I think it's cool." She slid into the seat opposite the boy and shared more about what her mommy used to tell her, and then it was her turn to ask questions.

"You really got a baby brother?" she asked, excitement oozing out of her ears.

"Yeah. He's two. He makes funny noises and eats this goopy baby stuff," he answered with a bit of a stink face that made Ariadne giggle. He laughed too, because he was happy she thought him funny.

"Oh, I love babies! They're so cute! Everything about them is so tiny. They've got tiny little fingers, tiny little toes, and tiny little feet." She made a motion with her fingers that made both of them giggle again. Smiling, he recalled a bunch of tales about two-year-old Wyatt, until they were both rolling around on the floor, laughing even though their tummies already hurt. As they were doing so, something caught Arthur's eye.

"Hey, how come your ice cream is melting now?" Ariadne glanced down at it.

"I think it means I have to go now," she told him sadly. Suddenly, they heard a horn honk from the road outside the shop.

"That's my mommy. C'mon!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the minivan in which a smiling, 30-year-old woman with dark hair and eyes that matched Arthur's perfectly sat waiting next to his father, who was always so serious. He had Wyatt's hazel eyes and sandy blonde hair. When he did smile, as he was now, it was soft and kind. Arthur knew that his baby brother sat in a car seat in the back. He approached the van, still clutching Ariadne's hand.

"Hi, Honey. Who's this?" asked his mommy. Ariadne used the ice cream cone in the hand he wasn't still holding to wave shyly at Arthur's parents.

"This is Ariadne. I met her at the ice cream shop. Can we take her with us?" Arthur asked innocently. His mother bit her lip, thinking it over for a moment.

"Is it alright with your parents, Ariadne?"

"I don't got parents, Miss. My papa don't love me. If he loved me, he wouldn't've hit me. My mama didn't care, 'cause she let him. Didn't even cry one single drop. I don't got nowhere else to go." Sighing, Mrs. Levitt reached back and pressed the button that opened the side door of the van.

"Hop on in, kids," she said, her smile slowly returning. Ariadne smiled back.

"Thank you so much, Miss." They both climbed into the middle row of seats, and Ariadne turned around to play with the baby.

"You must be baby Wyatt! Hi! You're so cute! Yes, you are!" she exclaimed in a baby voice. Wyatt giggled and reached out to grab her finger as the car started to move from its spot on the curb. Music spilled from the car speakers, filling all of their ears with words of love and living peacefully that had them all singing along. Even Wyatt made baby noises in the back. Ariadne had to pause in regular intervals to lick her ice cream and keep it from dripping down her bruised arm. Arthur had finished his back in the ice cream shop and had both his hands free, so when he caught sight of the yellow and blue on her arm, he grabbed her only free hand impulsively. She stared at him for a second, then at their linked hands, before giving her ice cream a long lick and continuing to sing as loudly as possible.

There was no telling how or when the atmosphere had changed, because it had all happened so quickly. Arthur thought he had caught the squeal of tires before the car shuddered, and Wyatt wailed pitifully. The whole van spun and spun until it exploded in a shower of broken glass and sticky red stuff. He felt almost overwhelming pain shoot through his arm, the one connected to the hand holding Ariadne's, but he didn't let himself think about what the red stuff was. The cheerful music had stopped abruptly. Now, the only sound was the baby's cries in the back. Not able to bear checking the people who weren't giving signs of life, Arthur looked back to make sure his brother was okay. The only sign that anything was wrong was his red face from the effort of crying and a little, shallow cut on his cheek. The older boy tried to reach back to comfort him, but there was a tug on his right arm that reminded him he had been holding his new friend's hand when they had crashed. Reluctantly, he turned to see that her head was bent at an odd angle, and the red stuff was splattered across her shattered window. Her pretty eyes were blank and unseeing, her hand limp in his. The ice cream cone she'd been holding lay crushed and melted on the floor of the van.

He pried his fingers from hers to inspect the others in the car. His parents' faces were both splattered in crimson, and the air bags on both sides had puffed out much too late. Arthur's daddy was already too far gone too speak and lay there, broken, but his mommy was still fighting, holding on just enough to turn to him and say her last words.

"Arthur, honey, we love you, and we've always been proud of you. We have to go now, but I want you to keep making us proud, okay? Me and Daddy-we'll always be with you. You just need to find us. I'm sorry that we won't be around to-" she paused, struggling to speak through the blood that was now trickling through her lips. "To see you grow up, take pictures at your prom, or be in your wedding. Goodbye, baby. I'll see you again someday. I promi-" She coughed up more crimson and coughed and coughed until there was no more energy to fight anymore, and her whole body went limp.

He couldn't stand it one second longer. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he reached back and grabbed his brother and his blanky from his car seat. He pulled open the door to the shattered, broken car. Taking one tiny glance back, Arthur saw the car that held his dead parents was crying bright red tears. With his little brother in his arms, he ran as fast as he could. They ran down that road and through the woods until the van was no longer in sight. It was not until they were hidden away in the shade of a huge oak tree and Wyatt was asleep on his blanky that Arthur allowed himself to cry hard, lonely tears.

* * *

Eames wakes to the sound of screaming in the room adjacent to his. His whole body is awake instinctively before his mind can even begin to process what might be happening, and he is at the door to Arthur's room in seconds. Not having time for the luxury of knocking, he picks the lock and bursts into the room, gun loaded and ready. The window beside Arthur's bed is opened and the curtains flap in the breeze. He moves to close it, but the sight of Arthur curled into a fetal position on the bed stops him in his tracks.

The other man is not physically wounded but silently weeping into a pillow, weaker than Eames has ever seen him. When he puts a hand on his shoulder, the Point Man is startled for a moment but otherwise unaffected. He sits up and reaches for the lamp on the bedside table. After it flickers on with a small _click, _Arthur grabs his loaded die off the table and rolls them a couple times. Nodding, he turns to face Eames.

"I'm sure you're wondering what that was all about," he says darkly, not meeting his eyes.

"Oh my god, guys! What was all that about? I-I heard screaming, and-" Ariadne pauses in the doorway that Eames had left open carelessly. "What's going on?"

"Ariadne, darling, go back to bed. I'd decided to mess with our dear Point Man and startle him awake. Goodnight," he tells her dismissively. Predictably, she is not so easily swayed.

"Then why does he look like he's been crying? Come on, Eames, I'm not that dumb. Arthur? Are you going to tell me what's going on?" she demands, crossing her arms over her chest. Eames notices that she must be cold, standing in the hallway in a tank top and light pajama bottoms. Her hair is pulled into a wild ponytail on top of her head, and her expression clearly says she means business. He sighs. Arthur still hasn't acknowledged her presence, refusing to even open his eyes.

"Please," he begs. "Just go back to bed, Ariadne. You need sleep. We're going to meet with Cobb tomorrow, and you're not accustomed to going long periods without rest." The girl huffs, her frown deepening, her brows pulling together. Eames is extremely tempted to give her the infamous "if you keep making that face, it'll be stuck like that," or maybe even "don't you ruin your pretty face like that." Either one would be equally satisfying, but he doesn't get the chance.

"Fine, but I don't remember when you started preferring Eames' presence over mine." With that, she took off down the hall to her designated hotel suite.

"Well," starts Eames, after a significantly long and awkward silence. "That went spectacular. I do congratulate you on your bloody excellent people skills, Arthur." Finally, Arthur opens his eyes and meets Eames'. They are an irritated red from all of the crying and glistening with the threat of more waterworks. The Forger can't handle seeing him like this. It's not their usual teasing atmosphere. The man in front of him is wounded but not broken completely, not yet.

"I can handle that mess tomorrow. I just couldn't handle seeing her face right now. You know, it's sad that this is the most I've actually _felt _anything for a long time." Neither of them is sure if he is speaking to Eames or just to the air around them. Neither cares. "That dream, the one that had me worried they were after her, I'd had it more than once. It wasn't one of the worst. Hell, I was just glad to dream without being hooked up to needles. That was how it started out. Now, it hurts to look at her. Every night, she dies a different way. I am supposed to be the Point Man. Part of my job is making sure all of you are safe. Before, I had no assurance she hadn't actually died. I guess I should be grateful that she's here, now, so I know that I haven't failed." He stops himself. It seems to take him great effort to speak at all.

"What about tonight? You seemed pretty freaked out, Arthur. You don't get that from watching your Architect die in a dream."

"You're right. It- it was different. It was a memory, tonight. Not exact, because she wasn't there in real life, but enough so that it- brought back- things- feelings that I haven't- Why am I telling you this? I- I don't even like you!" he announces.

"You're telling me because you need to get it off your chest, and I'm willing to listen. There's also the fact that whatever you have to tell us might be important to keeping us alive. The more we know, the better, but you're going to have to tell her somewhere along the line. This might put her in danger. That window," Eames pointed in the rough direction of it, "was opened when I came in here. You need to tell me about the dream, Darling, whether you like me or not." Not able to argue with that, Arthur describes every horrible, heart-wrenching second of his dream- nightmare, really- that he can recall. When he is finished, the air is silent, as if the world knows that this is a story of pain and suffering. Neither of them know what to say or do.

"Well…" Eames is the first to break the silence. "That was horrible."

"Yeah, well, be glad you didn't experience it firsthand." There is another period of eerie quiet, but this time it's more uncomfortable than mournful. Again, Eames speaks first.

"What do we do now?" he asks, more to get the ball rolling than actually curiosity. He knows what Arthur is going to say before he even opens his mouth.

"We need to retrieve Ariadne and find Cobb tonight. We can't waste any more time."


	3. Hot CoaCoa, Anyone?

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or any of its characters. They all belong to Christopher Nolan.**

**Chapter Three:**

About five minutes after Ariadne has stomped off childishly back to her room, a knock carries through her fancy hotel suite. She practically jumps out of her socks at the sound. Whoever it is, they are insistent. Of course, it must be either Arthur (she highly doubts that; he's been avoiding eye-contact with her since he came to collect her) or Eames, who were both awake and apparently having an intervention without her. Overcome by curiosity, she trudges sleepily over to the door, her muscles groaning in protest. When she'd thought Arthur was in trouble, she hadn't had time to worry about it, but now that all is calm, she realizes how exhausted she is from her daring escape from the college. Predictably, she opens the door to a rather disgruntled Eames.

"I thought I was supposed to be sleeping. Now I'm not good enough for that, either?" She knows she's being stupid about it, but after she's been ripped from her normal life from a man who refused to look her straight in the face and woken up by his unexplained screams in the middle of the night, she can't bring herself to care.

"First of all, I'd like to remind you that Arthur is an ass, and he has no idea how to handle a woman. Second, he told me to tell you that he feels bad about being who he is, which, again, is an ass. Though he has his reasons," Eames tries to tease, but the last part doesn't quite get past her. She crosses her arms and doesn't even attempt to laugh at his weak poking at Arthur.

"Which are? If he really cared, would he not be here to apologize himself?" she asks, not expecting an answer. She doesn't get one. Sighing, Ariadne studies Eames' face carefully. "What are you really here for?" This is a question he is more willing to answer.

"I came here to escort you to the car we have rented to take us to Cobb's. We're leaving," he says. His voice is tight and very un-Eames, and his sentences are abrupt. Ariadne wonders what has his British granny-panties all in a bunch.

"Tonight? But- I'm still in my pajamas! I- I thought we weren't meeting Cobb 'till tomorrow!" she stutters, thoroughly flustered. He shoots her an annoyingly piteous glance.

"Sorry, Love, but the plans have changed. I'll wait out here while you put some clothes on and do something about that hair. It's a bloody animal on your head, Darling," he teases, and this time she does allow him a weak laugh. Not that it's particularly funny, but he seems like he can seriously use a hug at the moment. Ariadne hears a quiet _"oof" _and a small chuckle and is shocked to see that she has, in fact, smushed herself against the Forger, trapping him in a tight bear hug. As soon as she realizes what she's done, she pulls back, fire spreading across her cheeks.

"Sorry," she mutters, but he's grinning like it's his job. This causes the fire to take on an insufferable heat, and she suddenly feels the need to explain herself. "You- you looked like you needed a hug, and I'm so tired right now that I would probably hug _Arthur_ if the opportunity arose. Trust me, that's like throwing your arms around a porcupine."

"You'd know from- experience?" he questions, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. She swears the central heat in the classy hotel is turned up to an unhealthy level by now.

"Shut up, Eames. I'm gonna go put some real clothes on, so we can go already." His chuckles sound through the fancy-schmancy hotel suite as she swiftly grabs some clothing from her fully-packed suitcase and changes as fast as she can in the small bathroom. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she runs a brush through her animal-like tangle of hair self-consciously. A scar on her left arm catches her eye, as it does whenever she looks down, and her back is suddenly straighter, her chin a little higher. Ariadne exits the bathroom even tighter and more stressed than she was when she woke up.

She can feel Eames's gaze on her while she pulls on her boots and gathers anything she's left out, wondering what he is thinking and if Arthur is okay. Her eyes meet his steadily, and she stares him down until she's good and ready to ask him what she needs to know.

"Before we leave, Eames, I have to know what Arthur's problem was earlier." When his reply begins to write itself across his features, she continues, not allowing him the time to object. "Look, I know it might be personal, and apparently you two are best buddies now. But we both know that this is a dangerous world to keep secrets in. This could affect me, too, you know!" The little Architect gets all in his face, daring him to refuse. He sighs, rolling his eyes.

"You're right, but dear Arthur doesn't see it that way. You're going to have to ask him if you want to know what's wrong with him," he replies reluctantly. After that, there is no conversation, and he leads her out to the car in utter silence.

Ariadne has never been particularly interested in cars, but when Arthur pulls up to the curb in a shiny, brand new Camaro, she can't help but smile. When she spots Arthur's face, her smile widens before dropping off of her face entirely. His eyes deliberately avoid her and stay focused directly ahead of him.

The two get in the car, and Arthur peels away from the curb. The rumble of the engine is the only sound that hits Ariadne's eardrums for forty-five minutes, until the Camaro pulls into the driveway of a quaint little cottage. Home-decorated stepping-stones lead up to the large wooden doors, and smoke puffs gently from the brick chimney.

The small group wanders to the door, and Arthur bangs the wooden knocker against it, slowly. An irritated Cobb finally appears on the other side, letting warm yellow light spill out around the others' feet. His eyes widen considerably when he realizes who's interrupted his sleep.

"What are you three doing here? I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow…" His gaze trails from Ariadne, who hasn't had proper sleep in weeks, to Eames, who has obvious dark purple half- moons under his eyes, and finally land on Arthur. His back is tense, and his eyes stay unfocused and distant. He allows his friend a shaky smile before uttering a weak, "Hi, how's it going?" Stumped, Dom Cobb steps aside to let them in, silently.

* * *

Dominic Cobb is happy for the first time in far too long. He allows himself to enjoy the little things, like when Phillipa asks him to push her on the swing or when James demands a coloring buddy. From the moment the security guy at the airport let him through, his heart has started to beat again. He has regretted the fact that he wouldn't be able to thank the people who have helped to get him here, but he figures that dwelling on regrets will slowly but surely eat away at him. To become an old man, filled with regret, waiting to die alone-no, it will not do him any good.

Receiving the call from Saito, saying that someone had tipped off Fischer and that he had to find the rest of the team to figure things out, hadn't been what he was expecting from his new, improved life, centered on his family. He knows it's a bit selfish that he brought James and Phillipa with him, but he wouldn't be able to stand losing them again. Knowing that it hadn't all just been a dream and that they would always turn around and smile at him in that sweet little kid way- it has been the only thing keeping him going this whole time. If he gave that up now, he would be no asset to the others. They need him to be at the top of his game when they arrive tomorrow.

You can only imagine his surprise when he opens the door to his three exhausted friends, the night before they are said to be arriving, looking so tired and pitiful that he steps aside immediately to allow them in his home. The time for questioning will be later, once they've had something to drink and are able to settle down a bit.

"There's hot chocolate left from last night on the counter. We made a big pot out of those little packet things. Phillipa insisted that we save some for my friends," he tells them with a small chuckle. He can feel the hint of his smile sticking to his face. Ariadne smiles back, but when he tries to catch her eyes, they're cast down to her feet. Cobb can't help but wonder what the hell has happened since he talked to them last.

Once his friends are settled comfortably (well, he can't say anything about Arthur, but Ariadne and Eames seem to be settling down) in stools around his kitchen island, he figures it's time for them to do some explaining. His eyebrows go up, and he examines each of their faces carefully.

"So?" he asks, looking first to Ariadne.

"Don't look at _me_! I woke up in the middle of the night to Arthur's screaming, and then I was sent away when I came to see what was up. They told me nothing," she replies bitterly, pointedly ignoring Arthur, who seems to be avoiding eye contact with her. His gaze transfers to Eames, who holds out his palms in surrender.

"I think our old pal, Arthur, should do the explaining here. He's the one with the bloody issues."

"Okay, Arthur, would you like to tell me why you showed up at my house in the middle of the night? Because I'm sure you didn't just come here for the hot coacoa," he says, finally turning to Arthur, who looks like he'd like to be anywhere but here at the moment. Sighing, Arthur speaks into the silence to his three former co-workers.

"I- didn't exactly give you the whole story on the phone, Cobb." There is another long silence. The room is tense, waiting for him to continue. "I- there have been these dreams-" He then cuts off, glancing at Ariadne then to the floor. Arthur is looking increasingly more like he's desperately trying to hold something back. He bites his lip, stares at the tile floor, and his fingers twitch almost imperceptively. It is some time before he speaks again. "The same woman- she dies, every time. Then I wake up." His sentences are unconnected and forced, but they are spoken like there is a balloon inside him, slowly puffing out air with every word, slowly but surely relieving him. Not caring to push it any further in front of the others, Cobb is about to change the subject, but he is interrupted by a small, familiar voice from the kitchen doorway.

"Daddy? I thought I heard voices," mutters a sleepy Phillipa, donned in pink Hello Kitty jammies. Her silky blonde pigtails are ruffled from sleep, and in her hand, she clutches Beary the bear tightly. As she enters the kitchen, she surveys the three newcomers' faces skeptically. Cobb can immediately tell when she notices Arthur. Recognition blooms across her sweet face, and it lights up in a brilliant smile. "Uncle Arthur!" she squeals, almost knocking the wind out of him with the force of her hug. Then, she pulls back, still beaming.

"Hey, Little Phillie. How have you been? I'm sorry I haven't come to visit for a while," he tells her seriously, shooting her a full-on, genuine smile. It always gives him a good laugh to see how different he is around children and how excitedly they ramble about him when he's not there. Arthur ruffles Phillipa's hair, causing her to giggle. Amused by his friend's uncharacteristic love of children, Cobb almost doesn't notice the second-long look of grief and pain that sweeps across his face. He makes a note to himself to ask about it when he has a minute alone with Arthur.

"We missed you! Thank you so much for the presents you sent for my birthday! I brought my new Barbie in for show and tell, and all the girls in my class said they wanted one, too!" the little girl gushes, before turning to the others, tipping her head in normal curious child fashion. "You-" she is looking straight at Ariadne now. "-must be Ar-Ari- Ar-i-ad-i-ne. That's a funny name," she announces bluntly. After mulling it over for a moment, she continues, "I'm gonna just call you Ari, 'cause I can say that easier." Ariadne gives her a warm smile.

"That's just fine. And you are?" she asks, even though she knows full well who this is.

Phillipa thrusts her hand out forcefully. "I'm Phillipa. You can just call me Phillie, if you want. Not Phil, 'cause that's a boy name, and certainly not Ipa, 'cause that's not really a name at all." Ariadne bends over to take the small girl's hand and shake it respectfully, smiling wider.

"It's very nice to meet you, Phillipa. I just love your PJ's," she tells her appreciatively. That wins Cobb's daughter over completely.

"Thanks! My daddy gave 'em to me! You know, you look real pretty when you smile like that." The reaction from Ariadne is expected. Her cheeks turn shade pinker, and she utters a warm "thank you." Arthur's reaction to the statement is actually surprising. First, his eyes widen, as if he is shocked, before they close completely, and his fingers pinch his nose. Now, he is facing the floor, looking like he's been reminded of something less than pleasant. Cobb realizes that Eames has also been giving Arthur a "what the hell" look and struggles to meet his gaze. The two females seem oblivious to Arthur's strangeness at the moment. They have been engaged in an intense discussion about the importance of tea parties. Smiling briefly at the sweetness of the moment, Cobb turns to the two girls.

"Phillipa, Honey, why don't you show Mr. Eames and Ariadne your bedroom? I'm sure they'd love to see it," he suggests enthusiastically.

"Okay, Daddy!" Phillipa chirps. She slips her right hand in Ari's and holds out the other expectantly to Eames. He takes it with a grin, and they all head off down the hall. Only Ariadne glances back once to shoot Cobb a concerned "I'm not letting this go; I know you're up to something," look, which he returned with a half-smile.

Then, he turned to his friend, frowning in disapproval.

"Arthur, tell me about these dreams of yours."


	4. Confessions of the Handsome Point Man

_Previously: (Cobb) "Now, why don't you tell me about these dreams of yours?"_

Arthur is silent for a moment. Unfortunately, Cobb takes this as a signal to continue prodding, instead of letting it go. "Why don't you start with this mysterious woman? Someone I know?" Something in his tone warns Arthur that he has his suspicions.

"I'm beginning to think that you already know, Cobb," he replies, with an underlying tone of bitterness. The other man's eyebrows raise.

"You're stalling, Arthur."

"Am I?" he shoots back. They stand in silence for a moment, staring each other down. Both men dare the other to be the first to speak up. The irony of the situation is that Arthur is, in fact, stalling, and he knows it. Frowning, he breaks the silence with a sigh. "I'm sure you can guess by now who the woman in the dreams is." Cobb nods solemnly.

"I assume she doesn't know?" he questions.

"No. I plan to keep it that way. I know it's dangerous, but I don't know what telling her will do."

"It will help her understand. I think she has her guesses already, by the way you've been acting. You're not very good at hiding things that you don't want to hide in the first place," Cobb tells him bluntly. Arthur pretends to be hurt, but he knows it's true.

"I know. Right now all I'm doing is delaying the inevitable. But how do you tell a woman that you are having dreams about her where she dies, and it's slowly killing you? And you can't do anything about it?" he asks, and it's as close to heartbrokenly as Arthur will ever want to get. He's never been accustomed to telling people about his feelings, and lately he's been spilling out his heart left and right. Ariadne, he believes, is the source of his sudden burst of emotion. He blames her for the newly born ache in his chest and the fact that he can't keep full composure around her. After all, she is the easiest to blame.

"You'll figure it out, eventually. You probably won't have to approach her directly. Her curiosity will get the best of her, and she'll come to you. When she does, you better be ready to answer her," his friend advised. Arthur nods, assuming that the conversation ends there, but Cobb, apparently, has a different idea. "And, Arthur, don't forget that falling in love is dangerous in our line of work. Be careful." Arthur stares at him as if he's said something completely insane and uncalled for.

"Falling in love? What makes you think I've fallen in love with her?" he asks indignantly. He receives no answer except for a light chuckle and a shaken head. He is about to argue his point further, but once again their conversation is interrupted by one of Cobb's children.

"Uncle Arthur? Phillipa said that you were here early, but I didn't believe it. We missed you. How come you didn't come for Christmas this year?" asked a half-asleep James from the doorway, opening his arms as an invitation for Arthur to pick him up. He obliged, greeting the small boy cheerfully.

"Hey, Kiddo! I missed you guys, too, but I was really busy on Christmas this past year. I promise I'll come this year, okay?" he replies sincerely. James hugs him tight around his neck. "You must be really tired, little man. You should probably go back to sleep."

"Okay. Can you come tuck me back in?" the little boy mutters. Arthur, half-smiling, agrees and turns in the direction of his bedroom. Sending one guilty glance back to Cobb as if to apologize for stealing his son from him, he continues down the hall until he reaches the door he knows conceals a dark bedroom, which contains a red racecar bed, a small bedside table, Thomas the Train wallpaper, and pretty much every toy manufactured by Fisher-Price. Arthur carefully opens the door with one hand and lays the 3-year-old onto the red racecar.

"Goodnight, Jimmy," he whispers, giving his small hand a light squeeze. James squeezes back.

"'Night, Uncle Arthur," James mumbles, curling up on his side as his breathing slows, and his face relaxes into a dreamy smile. Though he knows the boy is asleep and won't see it, Arthur returns it. The gentle smile lingering across his features, he looks up to see Ariadne leaning against the doorway with a wistful sort of grin playing on her lips. In the peace of the moment, Arthur raises his eyebrows without dropping his own smile and lets himself forget, if only for now, their current situation. A sweet pink tint blooms across her cheeks, and Arthur allows himself the satisfaction of getting her to blush. He notes how she still holds his gaze, as if she's afraid that if she lets the moment go, it will disappear forever from her memory. With the way he's been acting lately, that seems like a fair assumption. Suddenly, looking straight into her clear brown eyes, he is hit by the realization that the way he's been treating her isn't exactly fair. He stands, starting toward her purposefully, like he knows exactly what he was going to say. He wishes that that were true. Frankly, he's simply improvising at this point.

"I'm sorry," he begins, his tone sincere.

"For what? Totally shutting me out earlier? Or keeping secrets from me? Or maybe for completely ignoring me after you haven't even spoken to me for two months, asking me to go with you without even a friendly hello?" she asks irritatedly, as if this was something she has been waiting to say to him.

"All of the above. I'm sorry. It wasn't fair for me to act that way without any explanation. It's just difficult for me to-"

"Give away emotions other than anger? I get it. You are the Point Man, after all," she said, cutting him off. "But that doesn't mean you don't have to tell me what you've told everyone else. Obviously it's not that big of a secret, if you told Eames."

"Ari, I-"

"Arthur, please. Secrets are dangerous. What if my life is at risk?" she prods insistently. He puffs out a sigh.

"Alright. Those dreams that I told Cobb about- the ones with the woman- she's- standing in front of me right now. Every time I fall asleep, you die in a different way, and another little piece of me dies with you. I don't understand it, but... That's why I woke up in the middle of the night. That's why we're here before we were supposed to be. That's why I haven't been able to look you straight in the eye until now. I- don't think the dreams were created by my own subconscious, which is why I believed that you would be the one in danger." By the time he is finished, she looks just about in tears, still trying to swallow all of this.

"B-but why would you be so freaked out about me dying? As I keep reminding you, I'm just the Architect. I can't be that important, can I?" she asks, taking a step closer to him. His hand shoots to his pocket, searching for the loaded red dye. A tear rolls down her smooth cheek. He wipes it away gently. "Sorry," she says, turning away from him in shame.

"Don't be. It's my fault," he replies guiltily, taking her hand in his for a second. He holds it tightly, afraid that if he doesn't, she'll disappear into thin air. Closing his eyes, he decides to focus solely on the warmth of her slender hand and nothing else.

"You know, Arthur, I didn't know you were so good with kids," she comments, and he can hear the smile in her words, blanketed by the thickness of tears. He smirks at the compliment but clears his throat to get his voice to come out normally.

"We should probably be getting back to the others now," he suggests. He opens his eyes to see her nod in agreement, and they set off back down the hall.

Eames's and Cobb's heads whip around abruptly when they enter the room. They both smile at the same time, which Arthur finds suspicious and a tad bit creepy.

"I see you two lovebirds made up," comments Eames appraisingly. Arthur feels the warmth of Ariadne's hand leave his, and he realizes, mortified, that he had forgotten to let it go before. They were holding hands when they entered Cobb's kitchen. He looks to see the young Architect's reaction and finds that she's blushing fiercely. He would smile, if he didn't have to figure out a way to explain the sudden romantic-like actions between him and his apparently platonic friend.

"I was just explaining to Ariadne about our-um- dilemma. Which brings about the question: what are we going to do now?" Arthur asks, breaking the awkward silence. He has to start sounding like his stoic self again. If he is going to get them all out of this safely, he has to stop his childish worrying about the fact that Cobb and Eames had caught him holding hands with a pretty girl. No, he will come up with an excuse later. Right now, there are more pressing matters to deal with. One of them being that they are all in danger of being murdered, kidnapped, or extracted by a powerful man, and all the usually trusty Point Man can worry about is her beauty, her smile, and, most of all, her safety. Oh, yes, their Architect is _very _important, and she has no idea.


	5. Just Like Old Times

They were running. He wasn't sure from what, but it didn't matter. She was with him, pulling him along insistently. Their progress was silent but hurried. Her long brown hair flew out behind her as she dashed through the dark forest full-speed, dodging low tree branches and carefully avoiding stepping on twigs. She was dressed simply in her average jeans, boots, t-shirt, and patterned scarf. Looking back at him, she treated him with the sight of her devilish smile.

"Where are we?" he asked. She laughed in response, as if this were a humorous question, but kept going just as fast. A dull burning in his feet caused him to look down and see that he was still in his designer suit and shiny shoes that were definitely not made for running through the woods. He almost stopped, but she turned to raise her eyebrows at him challengingly.

"What? Do little Arty's feet hurt?" she asked mockingly. He narrowed his eyes at the petite girl.

"No," he replied, maybe a little bit too defensively. By now he'd stopped running.

"Then keep going! If we stop now, they'll catch us!" she told him seriously, tugging on his hand.

"Who? Why are we running?" he asked, resisting the urge to comply with her urgent yanking at his arm to make him go. She stared at him as if he'd just asked her something obvious.

"We don't have time for this. We have to keep going. The others are waiting at the cliff!" She tried again to pull him along, but again he stayed where he was.

"The others?" She sighed, exasperated.

"Yes, the others! Cobb, Eames, Yusuf- our team! C'mon! This place is dangerous! We need to keep moving!" Despite her frantic warnings, Arthur took a moment to survey his surroundings. The whole place seemed to hum with life in the deep blue darkness of the forest. He could only make out little details in the dark; green vines twisted around age-old tree trunks down to the gnarled roots, which were covered in moss. It squished under the fugitives' feet as they moved.

"Alright. Let's go find the others," Arthur finally conceded. He didn't like this place. It was dark and cold, and something about it was totally, unexplainably _wrong. _

As they began to run again, his trained ears picked up the snapping of twigs and cursing from behind them, and their pace quickened again.

Finally, they burst from the woods, panting heavily, and stumbled onto a dead end. Behind them was the nameless, faceless threat that they had been running from, and in front of them was a 100-foot cliff. It seemed to gape at them menacingly. There were more dense trees on the other side, it seemed, though it was hard to tell in the increasingly oppressive darkness surrounding them.

"What do we do now? Where are the others?" he asked, his eyes still searching for his other friends. She frowned, biting her lip in concentration. "Ari, what happened to everyone else?" he asked again, spinning her around to face him with the hand he was still holding.

"I don't know," she admitted reluctantly. "They should be here. Maybe they went ahead without us. We might as well follow them," she replied and let go of his hand to walk to the edge of the cliff, peering cautiously over the edge. Tipping her head, she waved him over. "Arthur!"

"What?" he asked, as he approached the edge of the cliff. She stared at him for a couple of seconds, before turning back to the unknown darkness of the cliff bottom.

"If I jump, will I survive?" she asked. His eyes widened, and he grabbed her arm protectively.

"That's about a one hundred-foot fall, Ari. If you jump, you'll most definitely die," he replied, attempting to pull her away from the ledge. She stood her ground.

"Will I? Or will I just wake up?" For a millisecond, her face morphed into that of Cobb's dead wife, broken and confused, but it almost immediately changed back to the young, inspired architect with so much to lose. The moment passed so quickly that he wasn't sure he'd seen it. Shaking his head to rid it of the horrible images, he tightened his grip on the young woman's arm.

"No, you'll definitely die. You said we have to follow the others. Where did they go?" he asked, if only to get off of the subject of suicide. She smiled at him knowingly.

"They've already jumped. They're waiting for me to jump in after them. You're the only thing that's holding me here. If you don't let me go, you have to jump with me. Come on, Arthur, take a leap of faith with me," she chided, tugging on her arm, trying to free herself from his grip. With her last words, Mal's face returned, and he was so startled that he loosened his grip enough for her to wriggle free. She smiled again, winked, and before he could stop her, threw herself over the cliff ledge. All he could do was watch in horror as she plummeted towards the earth…

"ARIADNE!" Arthur screams, shooting into a sitting position. His heart is currently trying to break through his chest, and he's panting like he's been on a long run. A dark lump on the couch above him groans and shifts its weight.

"What do you want, Arthur? You don't have to yell. I'm right up here," it mumbles sleepily. It takes him a moment to figure out that the dark lump on the couch is Ariadne, and he remembers suddenly the big rock, paper, scissors match between himself, Ariadne, and Eames over sleeping arrangements that had taken place earlier. This is how it had ended: he sleeps on the floor, Ariadne takes the couch, and Eames (ever the gentleman) hogs the guest room.

"Uh-nothing. Just a bad dream," he replies. She rolls over to face him, her lips pursed and her eyebrows furrowed.

"Well, it obviously had to do with me. You woke up screaming my name. You can't just do something like that and expect to get away with it," she tells him seriously.

"Ah, but I think I can."

"Don't make me come down there," she threatens, but the effort it seems to take for her to keep her eyes all the way opened has him doubting she can do much. Without thinking it all the way through first, he starts to chuckle. It is a deep, rumbling noise coming from within his throat and surprises even himself.

"And do what? You're half-asleep, Ari." He doesn't mean for it to come out so challenging, as if he'd like to see her try. Even so, he doesn't expect her to except the challenge until she's building up enough momentum to roll of the couch and onto him. He moves just in time to not be squished by her full body weight.

"You want to tell me about that dream, now?" she whispers.

"No," he replies stubbornly, earning himself a menacing glare.

"Well, I'm not going back up there until you tell me," she announces.

"Fine."

"Fine." After a moment of silence, she speaks again. "Hey, Arthur, you wanna know something?" she asks, sounding very serious.

"Sure. What is it?" he asks, wondering what in the world she would want to tell him.

"Cobb's carpeting is _really _soft. Feel it," she demands, picking up his hand and rubbing it back and forth across the floor.

"Huh, it is," he agrees awkwardly, not really knowing how to respond to such a strange and random announcement. "Well, good night, Ariadne."

"Wait! What about the…" She doesn't even have enough energy to finish her sentence before she drifts off to dreamland. After watching her peaceful face for just a moment longer, he follows her.

The next morning, Ariadne stirs awake from a peaceful sleep. Rolling over, she finds that she is not in her flat in Paris, and she is not alone. For a moment, her breath catches in her throat, and she begins her hand instinctively shoots out to search for her little bronze bishop. That is, until the person next to her rolls over and shows his face. Her memory returns suddenly, and her face heats up. As she begins to untangle herself from the blankets, she finds that she'd fallen asleep right next to the point man, with her hand on top of his. She thanks whoever is listening that no one had found them that way.

Not exactly sure what to do, she stands up and makes her way to the kitchen in hopes of satisfying her growling stomach. As she searches through Cobb's cabinets for something edible, she is interrupted by another person's entrance into the room. She turns to see Arthur wearing wrinkled pajama pants and a gray t-shirt. It's the most casual she has seen him dress. Most women might find it attractive, and even she's finding it increasingly difficult not to stare.

"Good morning," she greets him, the heat lingering across her cheeks. For a moment she allows herself to study him and to ponder how it is that he could still look so perfectly handsome after just waking up. But then she remembers. She remembers why it is that he had been avoiding her gaze, and why he knew to find her first. She remembers that they are both professional. They are co-workers. That is the end of it. She gathers herself and continues to sift through the boxes of cereal in Cobb's cupboard.

"Good morning," he replies softly. Plucking her chosen cereal out off of the shelf and setting it on the counter, she opens and closes the rest of the cabinets in search of bowls. Once she finds them, she curses her mother for being petite. They're on the top shelf. _God, I hate being short, _she thought. She almost jumps when a hand reaches out from behind her, pulls two bowls off of the top shelf and sets them on the counter next to the cereal.

"Thanks," she mutters as Arthur carefully shuts the cabinet door. He stays directly behind her. Ariadne is painfully aware of the close proximity.

"You're welcome," he replies, and just like that, the moment (or whatever one wishes to call it) is over, and Arthur has wandered over to the refrigerator to find milk for their cereal. The tense silence is broken by a dramatic yawn from the kitchen doorway.

"Good morning, Darlings!" Eames almost yells as he bursts into the room.

"Morning, Eames," grumbles Ariadne. Arthur just grunts and nods in acknowledgement of his presence.

"Well, aren't we just a bit grumpy this morning?" the older man comments. Arthur glares at him.

"Must've woken up on the wrong side of the floor, I guess," Ariadne retorts. Eames, apparently guilty about his taking the comfy guest bed from a young lady such as herself, shuts up immediately. It is an amazing feat for the man, surely.

"Cobb's waking the kids, in case you're wondering," Eames informs them after a moment of awkward silence. Ariadne sits down at the kitchen island and stuffs her face with _Cheerios _as he continues on to say, "We'll develop a game-plan after breakfast."

"What about Yusuf? Shouldn't we wait until he gets here to 'develop a game plan' as you put it?" questions Ariadne.

"The Chemist shouldn't be in that much danger. Not every team has one, and when they do, they're not thought of as much of a threat," answers Cobb as he enters the kitchen. He grabs the cereal box on the table and pours himself a bowl.

"But isn't it still possible that he could be the leak?" she asks, looking around the table at the rest of the "Dream Team" (as she's begun to call them in her head).

"She's right. We should probably bring him out here just in case," agrees Arthur. "But he doesn't need to be part of the plan-making process. If he really is the leak, then it's better he doesn't know anyway."

"What if it's one of us?" Ariadne questions. "I mean, how are we planning to find out?"

"That's what I meant by 'game plan.' Any suggestions?" Eames raises his eyebrows at everyone in question.

"Well, we're certainly not going to do an extraction on every one who knew about the Fischer job. Which is this whole team, plus Saito," Arthur states.

"It wouldn't be Saito. Why would he hire us to do something as difficult as an Inception, go along with us, and almost get lost in Limbo, just to uproot the idea we planted and potentially get us all killed? That just wouldn't make sense, Love," Eames points out. Arthur grits his teeth and glares.

"I was simply pointing out the fact that he knew about the Inception we performed two months ago," he argues.

"Yes, but you implied that Saito could potentially be the leak. And that, Dear Arty, would be incorrect," Eames persists. Ariadne suddenly feels as if she is at a tennis match, her gaze bouncing back and forth from one man to the other.

"For the love of God, Eames, please, do _not _call me Arty!" Arthur explodes back.

"Oh, dear me, what happened to the perfect little Christian boy with the cross around his neck all the time? He would have never used the Lord's name in vain!" Eames exclaims in mock horror. Frankly, Ariadne considers this pushing it and thinks he should really watch his big mouth. But she cannot bring herself to say so, for some reason.

"Eames-" Arthur warns. At this point, Ariadne turns to Cobb, grinning a small, conservative grin.

"Heart-warming isn't it? The old team's back together again," she comments quietly under her coworkers' bickering. He grins back.

"Yup," he agrees. "Just like old times."

**A/N: Sorry, about the whole thing with "for the love of God!" didn't mean to offend anyone. Just thought it was an Eames thing to say….**


	6. Dinner With Old Friends

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. **

**A/N: Hi! Sorry for the interruption! Just want to thank the people that reviewed, favorited, and subscribed to my story! So, thanks! It means a lot to me! :D Oh, and I don't own "Pure Imagination" or **_**Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.**_** Whoever wrote **_**Charlie and the Chocolate Factory **_**does. Just to make that clear. **

**IMPORTANT PLEASE READ: I deleted that last chapter and added it into here, because I hated it, so if you've read the last chapter I posted, IGNORE IT! **

"So, let's get down to business," Cobb orders, slamming his hands down on the table authoritatively as the team gathers around his kitchen island. Ariadne starts at the loud noise, but it is easily translated in her mind. They have wasted time bickering. Now it is time to make decisions.

"Well," begins Arthur, "first things first: we have to find out who leaked the information. If we have a traitor in our midst, he could still be dangerous to the rest of us." His brown eyes trail lazily over his team, and Ariadne could have sworn that there was just a millisecond's pause when they reached hers.

"From the looks of things, I'd say we'll have to settle this like they did in the old days. Without the PASIV. Good old fashioned police work," Eames suggests. Ariadne raises an eyebrow.

"So-what? Every one of us will be interrogated? Who's going to do that?" she asks.

"Cobb and I will take care of that," Arthur answers, as if this decision had been made previously.

"This should be interesting," Ariadne mutters, more to herself than anyone else, and earns a quick, disapproving look from the resident point man. "So," she continues, more loudly this time, "What will we do when we find out who did it?"

"Baby steps, Darling. Let's figure out one thing at a time, shall we?" Eames replies. She frowns but accepts the fact that this is all she will get out of them for the time being. It does not seem to be a proper time to argue, anyway. She opens her mouth to speak, but a knock on the front door has all four of their heads whipping around in almost creepy unison before she has the chance.

"That's Yusef. I'll get it," says Cobb, taking a step toward the door, but the thunder of little feet stampeding through the house stops him in his tracks. The kids throw open the door with a thud.

"Daddy!" calls Phillipa, "There's a brown man at the door!"

Ariadne notices the chuckle he struggles to suppress as he yells back in reply, "It's alright, Phillipa! Let the brown man inside!"

"Okay, Daddy!" she shouts back. Then, more muffled, "Come on in, Mister. Right this way. You know, you're lucky my daddy says you're alright, 'cause you looked kinda shady to me. 'O course, everybody else my daddy knows wears fancy suits all the time. But you don't look like the kinda guy who has any fancy suits like my daddy and Uncle Arthur has got. Do you know my Uncle Arthur? Well, he's not my real uncle, but we call him uncle 'cause he's like one. We don't got any real uncles. You got any uncles, Mister?"

The young architect can only imagine Yusuf's face as the little girl chatters his ears off. Smiling at the image, she turns to see that Cobb and Eames are also highly amused by Phillipa's little speech. Arthur's expression is professionally emotionless as it usually is. Yusuf's rather distressed face appears from around the corner a few seconds later. Lead by Phillipa's little hand in his, the chemist shuffles over and drops himself onto a kitchen stool.

"Thank you, Phillipa. Now, why don't you take James into your room and finish coloring that pretty picture we started yesterday, so the grown-ups can talk, okay?" Cobb suggests. The little girl opens her mouth to protest, but she seemingly thinks better of it, drops Yusef's hand, and picks up her little brother's, tugging him in the direction of her bedroom.

Once the children are safely out of earshot, the others fill Yusef in on their current situation, while Ariadne sits and fiddles idly with her scarf. She thinks about where she had been a week before now, trying to pretend that things were back to normal, lying on the couch and watching _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_. _Come with me, and you'll be in a world of pure imagination. Take a look, and you'll see into your imagination… _She'd thought of that as quite ironic, and she would have voiced that thought if Marie hadn't been watching with her, as it is her roommate's favorite movie…. _Marie_.

"Oh, crap!" The exclamation is spilling out of her mouth before her brain has time to stop it. The room is now dead silent, and four faces are giving her a "what the hell?" look. Ariadne chews her lip and tugs at her flowered scarf. "Uh- I forgot about something… but it's probably nothing," she explains awkwardly. They still stare at her expectantly.

"Well, what is it, then?" asks Eames impatiently.

"Well, my roommate, she's a bit… overprotective, and in the rush of things, I never actually gave her an excuse for leaving so quickly. My unexplained absence probably freaked her out a bit, especially because of her whole speech yesterday about me acting weird lately. She thinks I'm mixed up with the mob or something. She'll probably call the police or something, or her call up her super-rich boyfriend and have him buy a blimp with my face on it," she babbles. It's odd, because Ariadne is not the type to babble in this fashion. She's always been the type to be more interested in learning about other people than offering up any free information about herself.

"Well, here is one predicament with an obvious solution. Call her and give her some crap about being out with friends," Eames suggests.

"You want me to _lie?_" she asks incredulously, as if she has never done it before, which God knows isn't even halfway true. It isn't the prospect of lying itself that bothers her; it's who she's lying to that is the issue.

"What's the problem? You can break into a person's subconscious and steal their deepest personal secrets, but you can't tell a little white lie? How disappointing…" Eames comments with an artificially disheartened frown. It makes Ariadne want to kick him, but the action seems childish and unprofessional, so she crosses her legs under the table to fight away the temptation.

"It's not that. If you knew my best friend, you'd understand why I can't lie to her, especially since it's a special occasion, and she's already worried for my safety," she struggles to explain.

"What's the 'special occasion'?" questions Cobb.

"I was supposed to be at some fancy dinner with her and her new boyfriend. Apparently, they've been dating for over a month now, and it seems it's time for me to meet him. She feels that it isn't enough for me to just know that he's got money, his name is Rob, and he makes her happy." Suddenly, Ariadne remembers that she is speaking to a group of business men who most likely have no interest in her best friend's strangeness.

"What time is the dinner?" asks Arthur. Ariadne frowns, wondering what all of this has to do with anything.

"I was supposed to be there at six. Why the sudden interest in my social life?" she asks. He frowns, seemingly deep in thought.

"We can't afford to arouse any more suspicion. I think you should go to the dinner," he tells her. Her eyebrows fly to her hairline in surprise.

"What?" she asks stupidly. "I-I mean, you really think that's safe?"

"No, it's not. Not if someone is out to get you. That's why I will be escorting you," he explains.

"Arthur, now is not the time to be asking the pretty girl on a date. We're supposed to be working," teases Eames. Arthur's glare is probably the same heat as Ariadne's face, which now feels as if someone's lit a small fire under it. Thankfully, Cobb swoops in to save the day.

"Arthur's right," he says. "We don't need any more eyes on our backs than we already have."

"Alright, then. It's settled. You two," Eames points to Ariadne and Arthur, "have a date."

Ariadne rubs her neck self-consciously as she stares at her reflection in Marie's full-body mirror. Of course, the outfit that her roommate picked out is beautiful, but it doesn't seem like something she would ever wear by choice. A red dress hugs her waist and makes her small body look curvy. From there it cascades elegantly to just above her knees. Though the neckline is conservative, making a 'V' that whose point falls just below her shoulders, the halter top makes her feel exposed and uncomfortable, especially since it leaves her ugly, jagged scar uncovered. She wobbles unsteadily in her shiny red heels.

"You," Marie begin as she enters, studying Ariadne appraisingly, "look … _hot!" _ Ariadne blushes, tugging at the bottom of the dress. "Wait! One more thing…"

"What is it now?" she groans impatiently. In answer, her friend gathers Ariadne's long brown hair in her two hands, leaving only a few strands on each side loose, and pulls it into a tight bun at the top of her head. As she opens her mouth to thank her, Marie shushes her and holds up a hand. Then, she reaches for the curling iron on her vanity, spins Ariadne around to face her, and twists the loose strands of hair into it so they fall into lovely, shiny curls. A victorious grin lights up Marie's lovely face when she is finished.

"_Now _you look perfect," she comments.

"You don't look so bad either," Ariadne says appreciatively, smiling as well. Actually, her friend looks more than "not so bad"; she looks absolutely breath-taking. Her dress is shimmering gold, and tight against her body. It shows off her curves and thin waist, and it scoops down at the neckline, which is… not quite as conservative as Ariadne's. Her heels are shiny, black, and about four inches high. Her curly hair falls loose around her shoulders, and her make-up looks natural and lovely.

"I have make-up to cover that up," she tells Ariadne, gesturing to the harsh white scar that stretches across her left shoulder and the inside of her left arm. "Unless you don't want it…"

"No, why don't you get it… I don't want to make a bad first impression on your boyfriend. I mean, he must be pretty good for you, who can't even commit to a magazine prescription, to have kept him so long," Ariadne jokes distractedly, chewing her lip as she examines the scar. "Not very pretty, is it?" she asks self-consciously.

"You're beautiful with or without it," Marie assures her, beginning to search the room, presumably for the make-up. With a triumphant "aha," Marie holds up a small plastic container filled with skin-colored cream. She smoothes it carefully over Ariadne's skin where it is marred by the scar. "There, that's better."

Ariadne nods. "Can we go now?" she asks. Marie, to the other girl's surprise, looks confused.

"Don't we have to wait for your date to get here?" she inquires. Ariadne blushes, having totally forgotten about her protection detail.

"Right. I almost forgot. Although he's pretty unforgettable," she replies. Marie squeals.

"I can't believe you actually met a guy! And you were out with him all night last night! Speaking of which, anything… especially interesting occur that you've failed to tell me about?" she questions, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively and causing Ariadne's blush to deepen in color.

"Oh- uh- nothing… of that nature happened last night. Like I told you before, he just lives a ways from here, and it got-uh- it got a little late, and he offered for me to sleep on his couch," she answers. This is as honest as her story can be without telling her friend everything, which she wishes desperately that she could do.

"I'm sure that's exactly what happened," Marie replies sarcastically. Before Ariadne can argue, the sound of the ringing doorbell cuts her off. Knowing exactly who it must be, Marie smiles devilishly. "I'll get it!" she suggests.

Ariadne, who does not attempt to follow, takes advantage of her best friend's absence and allows herself to panic. "Oh, God, oh God, oh God!" she whispers. She tugs at her dress, checks the mirror to make sure her scar is completely covered, and paces.

"Ariadne!" Marie calls in a sing-song tone. "You're date has arrived!"

"Oh, God," Ariadne repeats to her reflection before pulling her game-face mask over her frightened countenance and starting towards the living room, where her undoing awaited in the form of a three-piece suit and gelled black hair.

When she enters, her "date's" face takes on a shocked expression, but levels out almost immediately.

"You look absolutely lovely, Ari," he comments appreciatively, offering her his hand. She hesitates for a split second before taking it graciously.

"Thank you, Arthur," she replies humbly.

"Robby is going to meet us there. He sent a limo to pick us up!" Marie explains, excitement twinkling in her eyes.

"This seems a bit overboard just for a get-to-know-you dinner. Don't you think?" Ariadne points out, but Marie waves off the question.

"He's got the money for it. Doesn't he? Now, let's go. We're gonna be late." With that, they are out the door.

Marie isn't kidding about the limo. Once they have exited the apartment building, they are met by a black stretched limo and a driver with a chauffeur hat on his head, holding open one of the side doors.

Ariadne has never ridden in a limousine before. In doing so, she discovered that they are surprisingly roomy and expectedly fancy with black leather seats and high-priced wine. She felt very much like a different person riding in a stretched limo in an expensive red dress next to an extremely good-looking man who is to be her "date." The short ride to the restaurant is filled with insignificant small-talk and chatter.

The outside of the restaurant is nothing special with glass double doors and two small potted trees on either side of them, but the inside is the nicest place Ariadne has ever set foot in. Her new heels clack noisily against marble floors, and low, warm light emanates from the crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. Women in extravagant dresses and men in pricey-looking suits sit, chatting quietly and enjoying their food, at tables placed all around the room, clothed in crisp white table cloths.

A hand slips into Ariadne's suddenly. Startled, she finds its owner to be the stoic man beside her. Deciding that the warmth that comes with his touch is a pleasant sensation, she does not let go. Marie speaks in fast-flowing French to the lovely Parisian women at the podium as they entered. The lady nods, motioning for them to follow her and weaving through the maze of tables.

The woman stops, says something else in French that Ariadne roughly translates to "this is your table," and hands them some leather-bound menus.

"Merci," replies Marie politely. "Robby, dear, this is my friend, Ariadne, and her date, Arthur."

When "Robby" turns around, Ariadne nearly faints in shock. When she looks up at Arthur for reassurance, she sees her own fear reflected in his eyes and knows that they've gotten themselves in a situation beyond either of their control.

"Hello," says her best friend's boyfriend. "I'm Robert Fischer."

**A/N: OMYGOODNESS! Yeah, if you read the last chapter before I deleted it, you totally knew that was coming, but those who didn't: CLIFF HANGER!**


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